Playing With Fire
by Sakura02
Summary: Before she became a lieutenant, she was ordinary 11-year-old Riza. Though she is forced to live under the same roof as her father's pupil, Roy, Riza is anything but willing to take care of him when he finds himself in an unfortunate situation.


Playing With Fire

**Disclaimer: The story's mine. The characters not so much.**

* * *

The house was quiet now, the sounds of alchemy no longer disrupting her from her reading. She was grateful for the peace, glad that the scratching of chalk against the floor, scraping of furniture against the walls, and permeating heat from down the hall could no longer reach her. The glow from their fires had been so intense that Riza wondered how it could possibly be contained in one tiny little room. She had hoped that they wouldn't accidentally set the house on fire, for then she would have had to escape through the window, and it was terribly frigid out there.

But the noises had suddenly stopped. The instant lack of sound had been unnatural, unsettling even. Her father had been yelling at his student, a gangly teen with big dreams and an even bigger ego. His name was Roy.

_Focus, Roy,_ she'd heard her father say. _You're just not concentrating today._

_I'm doing the best that I can!_ Roy had shot back.

_Your best isn't good enough! You need to show me everything you've got!_

Riza heard this all from her bedroom, unfazed by the usual banter between teacher and pupil. It grew old quickly, as did the shuffling of feet and muttered curses that had become the norm ever since her father had taken Roy on as his student.

And then it had all gone silent, and after several minutes of waiting for it to resume (and it never did), Riza slammed her book shut, rolling off the side of her bed. How on Earth was she supposed to concentrate when the background noise that she had grown so accustomed to was so impulsively shut off? So, she set off to investigate.

The living room, now used as a place for learning and sparring, had been left in disarray, as though the room's two occupants had quickly vacated it. After a quick sweep of the house, Riza came to the conclusion that her father must have left, leaving her this rare opportunity for solitude. Riza sighed, thankful for the down time.

A sudden disturbance of a chair being scraped against the floor startled Riza from her reverie, and she paused to listen for more. She heard soft, hesitant footsteps creaking atop worn wooden planks. The sound came from down the hallway, in a place that Riza had not even thought of checking-Roy's room. Resigned to her fate, Riza left her current position to scope out the situation.

She found Roy hovering just outside his bedroom, an empty glass in his hand. As far as looks went, Riza couldn't say that Roy wasn't good-looking. Although he swore to being of Amestrian descent, Riza found his Xingese appearance likable and exotic. She was especially fond of his small, cat-like eyes and how they crinkled at the edges when he smiled.

Right now, however, Roy's eyes lacked their usual shine, and he stared out of them as though in a daze. His creamy-toned skin was pasty and his bangs were stuck to his forehead with sweat.

"Where are you going?" Riza asked, eyeing the glass in her father's pupil's outstretched hand.

"Where does it look like I'm going?"

Because Roy was slightly older, he usually spoke to her as an elder brother would to a sister of her eleven years. A brother who tormented his younger sister just for the sake of amusement. Of course, he only ever spoke to her this way when Riza's father wasn't around. Otherwise, he tried to ignore her entirely.

Riza brushed off his comment and said, "You finished training early."

Roy shrugged. "He said my heart wasn't into it."

As much as Riza only cared for him solely because of his looks, she couldn't agree with what her father had said. She had watched them practice many times before and the determination she saw in Roy's eyes was undeniable. She had never asked him what his motivations were, but she knew that he studied alchemy because he wanted to help people. What little she knew of the boy who had come to live with them several months ago.

"Are you okay?"

Roy raised his eyebrow. "Why would you ask me that?"

Riza looked back at him without revealing a trace of emotion. "I don't know. You just don't look right."

"I'm hot."

"You're conceited."

Roy was taken aback by her comment, but he recovered quickly and said, frowning, "That's not what I meant. It's like a furnace in here."

"That's what happens when you light a fire in an enclosed space."

Riza watched as Roy tugged at the front of his shirt and fanned himself. His toned abdominal muscles glistened with sweat, and every time he pulled on his shirt it was as though he had to forcefully peel the garment away from his body. He pulled at and stretched his shirt collar, desperate to create some kind of circulation of air. Afraid that he was going to break it, Riza removed the glass from his hand. She wasn't even sure if he'd noticed.

Finally Roy stumbled backwards and collapsed into a chair. He was breathing like he had just crossed the desert separating Amestris and Xing at a sprint and sweating just as badly. Riza wandered forward, her concern for him mounting. She watched him pant for a few seconds, before reaching forward and grabbing a fistful of his shirt.

"What...?" Roy asked, unable to form a complete sentence, but coherent enough to know he was about to be undressed.

"You need to change clothes and dry off," Riza said. "Otherwise you'll get sick."

Roy struggled with the buttons of his shirt, his fingers clumsy with fatigue. When Riza tried to help, Roy batted her hand away. With his shirt now discarded on the floor, Roy leaned forward and put his head in his hands.

"What's wrong?" Riza asked.

"Just tired," Roy muttered. "It was a tough workout today."

There was a towel conveniently placed on Roy's nightstand (Riza never bothered to question Roy on things as trivial as that. The boy had proven to be eccentric at the best of times, so she just tried to ignore it) and he used it to wipe himself free of sweat. He struggled a bit with his back, but he didn't look to Riza for help, and she wasn't about to volunteer.

"Change into some other clothes and I'll go get your water."

Riza found her father standing over the counter in the kitchen. Beside him was a bag full of things that she could not yet identify.

Her father turned at the sound of her entrance. "Oh, Riza," he said. He sounded as though he hadn't been expecting her. "Where's Roy?"

"In his room. What's in the bag?"

"And he's feeling all right?" her father asked, completely ignoring her question.

She shrugged. "I guess. Why wouldn't he be?"

"I may have pushed him too hard earlier. I know he hasn't been sleeping well..."

This was the first that Riza had ever heard of it. Roy had seemed all right to her, although since she rarely spoke with him, she supposed it would be hard to judge exactly how he was feeling every minute of the day. Sometimes Riza thought that her father saw more of Roy than she did her own father. She was used to it now though.

"Do me a favor and keep an eye on him while I make us some stew."

"Can't he take care of himself?"

It wasn't particularly that Riza minded watching over her father's pupil, it was just that she could think of other things, possibly better things that she could be doing with her time. After she filled a glass with water and was shooed out of the kitchen by her father, she retreated down the hallway into Roy's room.

He was sitting in bed now, dressed in clean linen pajamas. Riza handed him the water, which he placed on the nightstand beside him-the nightstand covered in chalk drawings of alchemical designs that were all foreign to her.

"Thanks," he said, resting his head back against the headboard.

"Are you hungry? Dad's making stew for dinner."

Riza always said that: _Dad_ as opposed to _my dad_. It was as though she and Roy shared more than just the house in which they lived.

"I'm not very hungry," Roy admitted quietly.

Now that she knew to look for it, she guessed that Roy did look a little tired. No, he looked downright haggard. It seemed as though he hadn't slept for days, and judging by the amount of her father's concern, he probably hadn't. Much of Roy's free time was spent on studying alchemical theories and then acting on those theories. He usually only ate when his face was buried in a book, which aside from sleeping, was the one time Riza's father wasn't breathing down his neck.

"What's it like," Roy asked her suddenly, "having that man as a father?"

"I don't know," Riza said honestly. "He's my dad."

"It must be something special to have Berthold Hawkeye as a father. Not only that, but Colonel Grumman is your grandfather."

"I know that."

"They say that the colonel has the potential to become Führer one day."

"Do they?" Riza said absently. She'd heard all this before.

She went and sat in a chair across from him. They sat awkwardly for several minutes, Roy staring out the window in his bedroom and Riza examining the dirt beneath her fingernails. Occasionally Roy would heave a large, tired sigh, and it became apparent to Riza that he was waiting for her to leave so that he could fall asleep.

"You can go to sleep if you're that tired," she said.

Riza watched Roy frantically blink his eyes and slowly turn his head away from the window to look at her. She realized then that Roy had been in a complete daze and had probably forgotten that she was even there with him. Continuing to stare at her, Roy gave her the faintest of smiles, before he gave a violent shudder and folded in on himself. Startled, Riza jumped up from her seat and came to Roy's side.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm f-freezing," Roy said.

"It's about to snow," Riza said matter-of-factly.

"O-O-Oh."

Roy lied down and buried himself beneath the covers. He continued to shiver, and Riza noticed that even his teeth were chattering. For a few seconds more, Riza watched Roy as he worked to conceal every inch of himself with the sheets on the bed. When he did all that he could, he continued to lay there shaking. He muttered something quiet and incoherent.

"What?" Riza asked, leaning forward to hear him.

He ignored her and resumed his quiet rant, the words distorted by the shivers that racked his body. Again, Riza moved closer, afraid that he was asking something of her, or else saying something of importance.

"Combustion," Roy said a little more audibly. "F-Fuel and oxygen yield to heat and w-water plus c-carbon di-dioxide."

Riza took one hesitant step back. Roy's ramblings unnerved her, and the feeling didn't pass when he started mumbling about exothermic chemicals and hydrocarbons. Then, she was hit with a stroke of brilliance when she remembered how badly he was still shivering. She reached out and touched his forehead, and as she suspected, he was running a terrible temperature. It must have been making him delirious.

But he couldn't have just spiked a fever of that caliber. Riza wondered if perhaps he had been sick even before beginning the day's training with her father. It surely explained why Roy had been accused of giving a poor performance.

She left Roy to his rambling and left to find something to cool him with. She returned with a damp washcloth and a small basin of water. Roy watched her with expectant eyes and released a shuddering gasp and pulled away when the washcloth was placed on his forehead; to his fevered skin, the cool cloth was like ice.

"You have to let me bring down your temperature," Riza said, moving forward again with the towel.

Roy gave a short, reluctant nod.

This time when the washcloth touched him, Roy sneezed. He muttered a quiet apology, and then he sneezed again. For good measure, he sneezed for a third time. He gave a defeated little moan and shimmied further into his nest of blankets.

"How did you get sick?" Riza asked. She had taken up her vigil back in the chair at Roy's bedside.

"C-Can't s-s-sleep," Roy stammered.

So, it was true what her father had said. "Why not?"

Roy was silent for a while. Riza thought the fever might still be affecting his concentration. Finally, he said, "My mind is racing."

"I thought you were doing training for that."

A flicker of annoyance flashed across Roy's face. It vanished quickly and was replaced by a sick and haggard expression. "I chopped wood yesterday."

Riza nodded in understanding. To focus Roy's mind, her father had had him go out into the snow. And while the task wouldn't completely prevent Roy's mind from racing, it was a way for him to release some of his pent up frustration. However, Riza's father knew that his pupil would still need to be vigilant if he wanted to avoid cutting off his own foot in the process. In the end, it had been Roy's constant lack of proper rest and the exposure to the colder weather that had led to him getting sick.

Her father walked in then, and he carried a tray laden with bowls and plates of rice. Riza helped him pass a bowl to Roy. Roy looked at the dish with disdain-it was a stew made from pork, potatoes, and soybean milk.

"Not much of a stew eater?" Riza asked as her father left them alone again.

"It's not that," Roy said. He lifted his spoon only to drop it back into his bowl without ever bringing it to his lips. "I still don't feel like eating."

"You need to eat something to help get your strength back. A couple of spoonfuls won't hurt you."

Roy placed a hand over his stomach and groaned histrionically. Nevertheless, he placed a spoonful of broth to his lips, slurping noisily. Riza turned away and rolled her eyes, knowing that Roy must be feeling marginally better to be this dramatic.

They continued to eat in silence. Before she knew it, Roy had set his bowl down, his meal nearly finished. Gathering their things, she stood and headed for the kitchen.

"You didn't eat much," her father said.

Riza shrugged. "Roy did."

"Good. How's he doing?"

"I don't know. He's quiet."

Her father nodded thoughtfully. "Continue to keep an eye on him. I'm going out for a while."

He came over and kissed her forehead before leaving out the front door.

Riza knew better than to question her father's destination. When he wasn't training his student, he left often under various circumstances. He'd been doing it ever since Riza had been old enough to stay by herself, and it really didn't bother her anymore.

She went back to Roy's room and found him lying down, making a desperate attempt to keep his eyes open. Riza went to him and removed his washcloth, which had retained an uncomfortable warmth from his body.

"You should go to sleep," she said.

Roy shut his eyes in response.

Riza watched him for several seconds, taking in his handsome features. But even in sleep he looked uncomfortable. Then Riza remembered the washcloth and meandered to his bedside. She leaned over him, close enough to feel his moistened breath on her face, and placed her forehead against his, assessing his temperature.

Roy's eyes snapped open, blonde hair and large amber brown irises in his immediate field of vision. Riza felt his breath quicken, almost hear the thunderous beating of his heart. She could feel his overly warm lips pressed firmly against her own.

What?

Now it was Riza's turn to be surprised. Her body tensed and she didn't dare move as Roy kissed her. His lips were dry and cracked from his fever, but they tasted so sickly sweet that it almost didn't matter.

The whole ordeal lasted only a few seconds, but when it was over, Riza wished it had never ended. Then she felt ashamed and disappointed with herself for feeling that way. She allowed herself to pull away from Roy, curious to see his reaction to his actions-her disappointment mounted, leaving her with an uncomfortable empty, sinking feeling in her stomach. Though he was smirking (rather sensually, she dared to add), his tired eyes betrayed his true condition, leaving Riza to conclude that their kiss, as sudden and uncharacteristically passionate as it had been, was merely a product of his disoriented, most likely delusional, fever-addled brain.

She pushed herself slowly and deliberately away from the bed, leaving Roy, and her own musings, alone in that musty bedroom.

xXxXx

Roy woke to another round of brutal coughing. He groaned as he was unpleasantly reminded of the tight congestion above his eyes. When the coughing ceased, leaving him slightly out of breath, he reached for the tissue box on his nightstand. He blew his nose, wincing, as it did nothing to improve his headache.

Two days had passed since that stunt he had pulled with Riza, and it had been just as long since he'd last seen her. At one point, Berthold came calling, demanding to know what happened to upset his daughter. In an already weakened state and fearing for his life, Roy let it slip that he might have accidentally sneezed in the girl's face. Whatever Berthold really thought, he did not question Roy's reply and continued to care for him, though not in quite the same fashion as his daughter.

When left alone-for Berthold had taken it upon himself to become Roy's very own shadow, nursing him to the best of his abilities, while still attempting some training when all Roy wanted to do was sleep-Roy wondered what, if anything, Riza had said to her father. He couldn't see her as the weepy type, so be doubted that she cried about the affair. At least to her father. Roy also couldn't help but imagine her, shut up in her room, crying herself into a stupor, or else spilling a couple of tears onto what she hoped would be a comforting book.

Roy had dreams about these things, see. At least, that's all he hoped them to be. Since the start of Riza's absence, Roy's seemingly mild symptoms had progressed into something more. While it wasn't like he was at Death's door, he was left with a deep, chest-rattling cough, a headache that never escaped him, and a fatigue that would not disappear, regardless of how long or how hard he slept. In summary, he was the epitome of misery.

He sat up and rubbed the remnants of sleep from his eyes. His room was too bright, suggesting early morning. He reached up into the air, stretching every muscle from his fingertips to his toes. His legs felt heavy, like they were being weighed down by something, so he turned to them, startled by this new development.

Instead of more of Berthold's textbooks at the foot of his bed, which he expected (and feared) he would see, Roy's eyes came across a young girl sleeping beside him. He jerked back in surprise, his movement bringing Riza into wakefulness.

She looked up at him with sleepy brown eyes, and Roy hoped that she would take the redness on his cheeks as a sign of fever and not for the blush that it actually was. As much as Roy may have fantasized in his spare time, he didn't think he was quite ready to awaken with a woman beside him in bed. Especially not the daughter of a skilled flame alchemist and his very own teacher.

"You came back," he said coolly, despite the flood of emotions whirling around his insides.

She gave him such a skeptical look that Roy could almost feel it penetrating through his very bones.

"I don't need your help anymore. I feel just fine-"

A rough coughing fit took hold of Roy then, the intensity leaving him doubled over and gasping for breath. It was a deep hacking cough, much different than the feeble dry cough that he'd started with. In fact, Riza couldn't remember him coughing at all before he'd kissed her.

"You've proven that you obviously can't take care of yourself."

"Not now," he rasped between breaths.

Riza slowly disentangled herself from the sheets and walked over to hand Roy the water on his nightstand. He accepted it only after he was certain he wasn't going to choke on it. Over the rim of the glass, Roy eyed the smug look on Riza's face. Her demeanor was not obvious, but Roy knew her well enough by now to see it hidden beneath her expressionless features.

"I guess I have no choice," she said at last. At least she'd waited until Roy could breathe again before speaking.

"One always has a choice."

"Not when it comes to you. I'm surprised you haven't died yet."

"Is that supposed to be an insult? I am very capable of taking care of myself, thank you."

"I see how well you've done so far."

The smallest trace of a smile was beginning to creep onto her lips. She was _enjoying_ bickering with him, and that infuriated Roy.

"Now that's not fair! I—"

Riza placed her finger over his lips, silencing him and erasing all traces of anger from his body. It was only then that Roy realized that he was breathing rather heavily. He felt something bubbling in his chest and brushed Riza's hand away as he turned and coughed harshly into his elbow.

Again, she offered him the glass of water. This time, instead of giving her a hard time, he nodded his thanks, all of the morning's antics slowly beginning to sap away his energy reserves.

"No need to get so excited."

By way of answering, Roy glared at her over the rim of the glass.

"All I wanted to say was that you need to rest. No more textbooks and no more alchemy until you can manage it without exhausting yourself. I won't baby you, but I'll be around if you need anything."

"Umm...yes, ma'am."

Riza, satisfied with his answer, turned and began walking out of the room, grabbing her book and tucking it beneath her arm. She was nearly to the door before Roy found the courage to ask his next question.

"Why were you here with me?"

Riza's head whirled around so fast that she swore she heard it pop. A deep blush was forming at the base of her neck and creeping slowly up her face and ears. She really had no answer for him, at least, not one that didn't sound completely ridiculous. The truth was that she'd snuck in last night to check on him, having learned from her father of Roy's condition. She'd brought a book to keep her company, but the later it got, the more inviting the bed looked. How was she to know that he would wake up first and find her there beside him?

Roy, rather enjoying her stunned silence, decided he would torture her no further. He smirked devilishly, relishing how easily he had brought this change in her. Beside, her wide eyes and crimson cheeks were enough of an answer for him anyway.

"Never mind," he said. "You're dismissed."

She regained her composure then and scowled in his direction, before marching down the hall. What an infuriating man that Roy Mustang was. He may be attractive, but Riza could not wait for him to be out of her father's house and out of her life for good.

As she rounded the corner into her room, she couldn't help but smile.


End file.
